


Cloves

by eluna



Series: Subvert All The Tropes [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Jo Harvelle, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Background Bill Harvelle, Background Sam Winchester, Canonical Character Death, Emotionally Hurt Jo Harvelle, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor Character Death, Minor Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Omega Dean Winchester, Omega John Winchester, POV Jo Harvelle, Pre-Season/Series 01, Teen Dean Winchester, Teen Winchesters (Supernatural), Trope Subversion, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Jo Harvelle/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eluna/pseuds/eluna
Summary: “My dad doesn’t need a knot to be able to hunt better thanallof you,” says Dean, his voice shaking with repressed rage.“Well, then, how else didhe! Kill! My! Dad!” Jo roars.





	Cloves

Jo presents a mere two weeks before John Winchester comes home from a hunt without her dad. Any earlier in Jo’s life, she would have broken down in hysterics; she would have cried her eyes out; she would have collapsed to the floor and been unable to rouse. Instead, her alpha sees red as her mother’s words that _Dad’s not coming back, sweetie, he ran that risk every time he went out there and sometimes the risk comes true_ ring hollow in her ears, and she steps backward, turns, and breaks into a run.

She may not have been an alpha for long, but she caught John’s scent before he and Dad left on this last hunt, and she scents the air seeking out the smell of cloves and tangerines. The Roadhouse is a confusing tangle of foreign and overwhelming smells, and Jo wonders whether alphas get used to this eventually or if the world is going to smell like _too much_ forever, from now on. She can’t smell John, but she _does_ smell the intoxicating sun-warmed sand, pine needle, and nutmeg scent that she would recognize anywhere, and her lips curl into a mean smile.

Following the scent, she strides downstairs, across the dining floor, outside, and around back to where Dean is sitting with his back pressed up against the building. Neither the scent blockers on his neck nor the cigarette squeezed tensely between his fingers is enough to stifle the smell that Jo wants to scent, to claim, to _own_ for herself. She’s had a crush on Dean since practically the moment she met him, but it’s become that much more intense ever since she presented. It’s nothing she can’t lock down—she’s had practice at doing that with Dean all her life—but it would be so _easy_ to blame the pheromones and take Dean for her own. She’s been training hard these last few years; she’s an _alpha_ now; the omega couldn’t possibly hope to defend himself against her.

Instead of filling her with the usual longing, Dean’s scent just intensifies Jo’s anger, and she flops down next to him and lets the fingers of one hand play across the grass. “Smoking those things doesn’t do shit to block your scent, you know.” Dean doesn’t answer. “Alphas can smell weakness from _miles_ off, and you… _well_.”

He bristles, seeming to visibly fight himself for control, and then takes another pull off the cigarette. “Watch who you’re calling _weak_ , little kid,” he spits.

The blow stings, not only an insult to her alpha but a reminder that Dean will _never_ see her the way she sees him, and the next thing she knows, she’s in his lap and her hands are throttling his neck. “Watch how you talk to me, omega.”

Struggling against her for a second, Dean finally thrusts his head forward so that their foreheads smack together and Jo falls backward off of him, her grip slackening. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Your father is my problem—your  _father_ who was too _weak_ to keep my dad safe on a routine hunt. Don’t you fucking talk to me like the two of you aren’t just losers playing dress-up every time you try and go out on a hunt.”

Dean lunges at her, then, and he’s _strong_ for an omega, and they end up in the dirt with Dean straddling her body and choking her just like she’d choked him moments before, the cigarette flying off to the side. She feels herself growing hard from the contact (still a bizarre sensation two weeks later), and she snarls and bucks against him, but he won’t budge. “Don’t you talk about him like that,” Dean snaps. “You alphas think you know him, but you don’t know fucking anything, not about him, not about me. Do you know how long it took him to find a mentor in your dad after Elkins threw him out? Do you have any idea how many bad guys he’s ganked since then or how close he’s gotten to tracking the thing that killed my mom?”

“Oh, yeah? Then why is it still out there? If your dad were an alpha—”

“My dad doesn’t need a knot to be able to hunt better than _all_ of you,” says Dean, his voice shaking with repressed rage.

“Well, then, how else did _he! Kill! My! Dad!_ ” Jo roars.

He presses harder on her throat, and she snaps, somehow finding the strength to flip their positions and pin Dean down in the dirt. “Your dad got himself killed all on his own, you _stupid_ knothead. Notice that _my_ dad is still alive, even though _he’s_ the omega and _Bill_ was the alpha—”

“Wonder how John’s going to find meaning in life now that he doesn’t have an alpha to play bitch to,” says Jo.

“Don’t let your mother hear you insulting her like that,” Dean says with a sharp laugh.

They stare at each other, both dirt-stained and breathing hard, Dean sucking in as many heavy breaths as he can get against Jo’s hands on his throat. “I could take you,” says Jo. “I don’t care if you’re trained as a hunter; you’re a _weak_ little omega, and I could make you _mine_ if I wanted to.”

To her multiplying anger, Dean doesn’t look afraid. “You couldn’t, and you wouldn’t try, not when you know it would ruin your chances of me _ever_ feeling for you the way you feel about me.”

“You shut up about that,” says Jo, dangerously quiet. “Don’t you _ever_ talk to me about that, or I’ll talk to John about the way you look at little Sammy.”

All the blood seems to drain out of Dean’s face. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I see the way you look at him when you think no one’s looking—like he’s your whole universe and you’d like nothing better than for him to claim you once he presents. It’s _pathetic_.”

And then, suddenly, before Dean has a chance to reply—she smells cloves. “John,” she whispers, and then he rounds the corner into eyeshot.

“Take your hands off my boy, Jo,” says John.

He sounds like he’s got the weight of the whole world on his chest, and Jo thinks that maybe he does feel that way, especially after letting Dad get _killed_ in action. Slowly, she pulls away from Dean and stands, feeling shaky on her feet.

Jo’s never liked John. He’s always seemed tired and kind of wimpy, like his heart’s not really in hunting or parenting or any of the things he purpots to care most about, and he always looks at Jo like she’s just some kid he barely knows, even though her family and his family all live above the Roadhouse together. Before, her dislike was easy to overlook for the sake of finding a way to live together with him, but now—

“You killed my dad,” she tells him, looking him dead in the eye, “and I will _never_ forgive you.”

And he looks back, and his eyes are weary, and he answers, “Fair enough.”


End file.
